


His Crown of Obsidian

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Bad Ending, Dubious Consent, Insanity, M/M, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Kissing, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 06:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20187820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Noctis becomes addicted to the Scourge—unable to cope with his ultimate defeat.





	His Crown of Obsidian

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't sleep again so i wrote this abomination. it's weird because i was a bit woowoo when writing but regardless, bon appetit.

****“Ardyn.”

The fallen king rasps, lips black and eyes hooded. He reaches out a hand to grasp at empty air. Ardyn watches in amusement as Noctis struggles to find him, on his hands and knees as if he is crippled. It is a pitiful sight, truly, and Ardyn _ loves _ it.

Noctis then drops his hand and falls to the floor. “Please. Kill me.”

* * *

It begins as an experiment. After having whisked Noctis away from the clutches of the Crystal before it could claim him, Ardyn settles them both within the Insomnian citadel. A fitting home, he thinks ironically as he allows Noctis to sleep. His breathing is ragged, but he will wake soon. He has been sleeping for hours.

When he does, Noctis’ eyes fly open and he cannot recall where he is. He frantically tugs at the sheets of his father’s bed. His face is pale and his mouth seems dry.

“Where—” he begins, though Ardyn stops him.

“Why, you are safe at home, Noct. There is no need to panic.”

Noctis’ expression shifts to one of relaxation, as if he doesn’t realise that it is Ardyn speaking. No, not as if. He really _ doesn’t _ realise. As he goes to bury his head into the pillow, he shoots up and gasps.

“_ You _!” 

Ardyn holds a hand to his chest in feigned surprise. “Indeed. The one who saved you from your fate.”

While Noctis doesn’t understand to begin with, he would in due time. The Draconian hadn’t the chance to explain to him what he had to do to purge the world of darkness—and he never would. The thought brings a smile to Ardyn’s face. Angered, Noctis lunges in a fit of fury. His weapons fail to come to him as Ardyn has sealed his powers, but he tries nonetheless. It is comical at first.

However, as the endless night drags on, Ardyn finds himself annoyed by Noctis’ resistance. Why is he fighting so hard when he had been rescued? Of course, Ardyn had tried to tell him of his salvation, yet Noctis refused to listen. Such a stubborn little knave. He had been spoiled for far too long. Becoming quickly fed up of having his kindness thrown back in his face, Ardyn sits on the broken throne and scowls.

He frowns for a long time, until the daemons within begin to whisper.

They are often silent these days. Seeing as how the Scourge had gotten what it wanted, it had been content to rest deep inside Ardyn’s gut to allow him to think for himself for the first time in years. Even though it is bizarre, a section of Ardyn’s mind opens up—and the results _ delight _ him.

If the boy refuses to accept his gift of salvation, why not see what the Scourge has to say about it?

Noctis is disgusted to find Ardyn’s hands on him shortly afterwards.

“Get the fuck off me,” he snarls as he digs his fingers into his arms. It doesn’t hurt. 

Ardyn ignores him. His eyes glow as the Scourge reawakens. It twists inside him, coiling and contracting in pleasure at the thought of spreading to another. _ Especially _ since that someone is the Chosen King himself. In a cruel twist of fate, Ardyn presses his lips to Noctis’ and forces the disease inside.

Noctis pushes him off and wipes his mouth. He does not realise that he is infected. He assumes it is simply an unwanted advancement, shouting obscenities and empty threats in Ardyn’s direction before he crumples to his knees. The Accursed gazes on as he cries out. His hands scrabble at his stomach, no doubt irritated by the invasive feeling of the Scourge making its way through his system. It acts very much like a real parasite. Well, Ardyn muses, he supposes it _ is _ a parasite. The Scourge lives as much as any other being, after all.

The first few days are spent with Ardyn slipping more and more infected cells into Noctis’ body. As he wants him to survive this ordeal, he must do it one bit at a time. A kiss that lasts no longer than five seconds, or less if Noctis yanks his head away fast enough. Not fast enough for the Scourge to not slide down his throat, however. He only realises the devastating effect when he is sent screaming bloody murder like a deranged lunatic.

Ardyn has to hold him down lest he tear his very skin off. He understands, truly. The Scourge is not a pleasant experience. Noctis thrashes, doing everything he can to rip his flesh off while the Scourge slithers just underneath. He thumps his head against the floor and wails.

By the end of the first week, the results are clear.

The Scourge finds him to be an acceptable host. This pleases Ardyn greatly. It acts both as an enjoyable experiment and a suitable revenge against the gods. Their precious chosen, infected by the disease they had failed to eradicate. It is _ so _ poetic!

Nevertheless, Ardyn’s delight is soon replaced by confusion as he finds Noctis holing himself in his room. He does not sit on the bed—rather, he huddles in the corner and cradles his head. What is he doing?

He mutters to himself. Nothing comprehensible, at first. Ardyn rolls his eyes and makes himself scarce. The desired effects would take longer to manifest, anyway.

He is then disturbed by Noctis another week later. Noctis’ eyes had shifted to amber, his skin paling to ash white and his nails blackened. He would learn to adjust further, but had so far been doing well. Ardyn recalls having screamed into the depths of his prison chamber for months. He watches, curious, as Noctis staggers before him. He glares at Ardyn, eyes aflame in that alluring gold. A shame, really. Ardyn had honestly preferred the previous hue.

“What have you done to me?” he whispers. Ardyn raises an eyebrow.

“The Scourge has claimed you. Have you not yet realised?”

Noctis shakes his head. “That’s not it. I feel… strange. Why does my head keep screaming for... more?”

Now, that _ truly _ interests Ardyn. He stands up from his chair and cannot help a sly smile. Not only has the Scourge entirely engulfed Noctis, but it is hungry. While Noctis cannot produce excess harvest of the disease seeing as Ardyn is patient zero, although Ardyn is capable of granting him more. He saunters forward, arms wrapping the dazed Noctis into an embrace, and crushes their mouths together.

He tastes of ash and plague. Noctis tries to fight the feeling of Ardyn’s tongue behind his teeth, but then tendrils of the Scourge slips on by when he is not paying attention. He suddenly gasps and falls apart in Ardyn’s hold.

“There we are,” the Accursed purrs. “All you wanted was the ailment, Noct.”

Crying out once having recovered, Noctis tears himself away and falls onto his backside. Ardyn can sense his body humming in agreement at the feeling of yet more sickness within it. The Scourge had a voice—a lovely, harmonious voice—if one listened closely.

“No,” Noctis says. His hand is around his neck. “No, I don’t _ want _ this.”

“_ You _may not want it, but your body certainly does.”

His frustration is entertaining. Noctis once again tries to attack him, claws aiming for his throat, although a marionette is no match for the puppet master. Ardyn shoves a sword straight through Noctis’ chest, pinning him to the floor and leaving him to scream in agony.

* * *

A month passes before Noctis begins to lose his mind.

The Scourge is growing stronger within him. He spends his time banging his head against the wall and tearing at his hair. Ardyn has to stop him several times. Despite being biologically immortal, he can still be killed. Ardyn does not tell him that the reason he himself is immortal because his soul is trapped in the Beyond, not because of the Scourge. Noctis doesn’t need to know that. As long as he believes he cannot die, he is easier to control.

Ardyn makes sure to give him his daily dosage of the disease. Noctis resists most days, but some, he allows Ardyn to catch his lips and combine his toxic saliva with his. He never kisses back, of course. All in good time.

When Noctis finally begins to cave, Ardyn gloats silently to the world. The poor young man is headbutting anything within reach, desperate to rid himself of the undying _ want _ inside of him. He pants and thrashes, chews his nails and paces, though nothing ceases his torment. It is oh so _ delicious _ to see him slowly break down. The way his eyes glazes over with lust, the way his mouth parts to sate his thirst—Ardyn finds it orgasmic. He watches gleefully as Noctis crawls over to him.

“Ardyn, I need—I _ need _more.”

Thus Ardyn obliges. The Scourge cackles in pleasure as Noctis grips his scarf, tilting his head back to get his fix. He does not kiss so much as suck, but it is good enough. It is messy and sloppy, Noctis frantically thrusting his tongue into Ardyn’s mouth to get every last drop of the liquified Scourge. When he finishes, he sits down and cries.

His tendencies do not falter. Noctis clambers back to Ardyn with his tail between his legs every so often, asking for yet another dosage. Sometimes he consumes so much he vomits, a torrent of dark sludge pouring from his mouth. It evaporates before he can lick it off the floor. It all quickly becomes monotonous, so Ardyn decides to kick it up a notch.

Noctis is on his knees before the throne, reduced to a pathetic mess. Ardyn sits with his cheek leaning against his fist, looking down at him.

“Please, _ please _ ,” he begs, _ prays _.

Ardyn pretends to yawn. “Why should I, dear Noct? Why are you so willing to think that I will succumb to your every desire?”

The king licks his lips. “You can’t just refuse!”

His tone is becoming desperate.

“Can’t I? Who was it again that saved your worthless life, hm? I do believe I am owed more respect than you are giving me.”

Noctis is unsure of his request. He frowns, eyes creasing, before Ardyn lowers his arm and leans forwards. There is a sadistic grin warping his face. As Noctis recoils out of fear, Ardyn only grips his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“Address me as the true king, and I _ might _ be willing to indulge you.”

Noctis quickly shakes his head. A sudden reluctance bubbles up within him and a growl rips itself from his throat. “Never.”

That is fine by him. Ardyn merely shrugs and leans back in his throne. He snickers as Noctis cannot help a demented whine, shifting on his legs. He is _ desperate _ and they both know it. Noctis is unable to hide the delusion clawing its way out of him, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. Just the mere sight of him sends Ardyn to giddy heights. He could get used to it.

Eventually, when Noctis obliges, he only does so in a whisper. “Your… Majesty.”

Ardyn holds a hand to his ear. “I’m sorry?”

“YOUR MAJESTY!” Noctis howls. He falls forwards, fist pounding the floor in agony. The sound is music to Ardyn’s ears. He finds himself growing hard, but does nothing about it. Not yet.

Then, he decides, to further decline the fallen king because he does not control him. Noctis cries again.

* * *

It hurts, it hurts, it _ hurts. _

Noctis is on his father’s bed, burying his face into the blankets. He is trying so very hard to drown out the pain, though he cannot. The Scourge is too powerful.

How has he failed like this? He had spent his first days at the citadel cursing Ardyn, begging him to free him so that he could save his friends. They are suffering out there in this realm of darkness to Ardyn’s daemons. He knows Ardyn is evil, yet he still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact he was so willing to doom the entire world due to his petty vendetta.

The Scourge spits in disagreement. Noctis shudders. It feels like a thousand insects are crawling beneath his skin, planting their dissent to further breed inside him. Despite that, the Scourge often feels like a warm hug. It is made of everything horrific, but it keeps him warm. It is vile. Disgusting. Humiliating. And there is nothing he can do about it.

Mind further succumbing to his addiction, Noctis claws at his face. What he would do to numb his ever-lasting _ need _!

He does not respond to the door opening. Ardyn flounces inside, coat trailing behind him. There is that obnoxious grin on his face again, and Noctis wishes he is sane enough to throw a punch at him. Howbeit, he is helpless but to lay there and hope that Ardyn will grant him release.

The Accursed looms over him like a tower. His voice is gentle—soothing, almost, as he speaks. “Are you ready to submit, pet?”

Noctis only whimpers in response. He does not stop Ardyn from settling himself on the bed, arms propping him up over him. His hair falls down like crimson threads. Noctis does everything in his power not to tug at it in frustration, wanting to drown his mouth in the black liquid he craves so much. He knows it is the bane of the universe, but he is lusting after it so_ bad! _ The feeling of the awful substance filling his body like a cancer is too exhilarating to forget about. It is all he ever thinks about these days—a futile attempt at drowning out the pain of his own failures.

When Ardyn shifts his legs apart to settle between them, Noctis moans into his mouth. It _ finally _ opens and presses against his own. He shoves his tongue inside to rummage around for that sickly flavour he so desires. Annoyingly, Ardyn holds back, chuckling at his desperation.

He rolls his hips forward, causing Noctis to gasp. His delirium numbs him to all usual shock he would normally feel at such an action. In fact, it encourages his body to want it.

The last thing Noctis truly desired was Ardyn on top of him like this, though he cannot stop his legs from wrapping around him and locking like a vice. He wants it—and Ardyn _ knows _ it.

However, when Ardyn still doesn’t release the Scourge unto him, Noctis grows angry. He bucks his hips upwards as he whines like a dog.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Ardyn taunts.

“Please!”

The Accursed hums idly. He ignores the way Noctis thrashes under him. “Begging does not guarantee results, Noct. Perhaps I have decided to not grant you the release you so desire.”

Noctis growls. “Why not? _ When _?”

Ardyn savours his panicked tone as he gnaws on his neck, fangs sharp and bared. Noctis is too flustered to resist. They spend a little while like that, Ardyn relishing in the squirming king beneath him and Noctis pleading for his pain to stop. He groans as Ardyn takes his mouth once more.

And even when he does let the Scourge out, he only releases a drop. That is enough to make Noctis _ scream _.

“Please! Please, Ardyn—it _ hurts! _ It hurts so fucking bad, please just _ end _ this! I beg of you!”

He cries for a long time. Bored, Ardyn rolls off the bed and makes his leave.

Noctis hates himself. _ Loathes _ himself for begging so desperately. It is as if it is not his own voice speaking, rather that of the Scourge, wanting to be reunited with its master. While it burns inside him, Ardyn is still free to control it in any way he desires. He is the only one capable of removing it, and Noctis knows he would never do such a thing. He is not that merciful. Noctis bites on his fist to stop himself from weeping. He does not let go, even when dark blood oozes out to coat his aching teeth.

* * *

Progress comes along nicely. Noctis has almost lost himself completely to the Scourge’s relentless appetite, and Ardyn is looking forward to the day it finally breaks him.

It wouldn’t be much longer. Ardyn is never wrong about these things. He just knows.

He has Noctis on his lap one dreary afternoon (as if any other day _ wasn’t _ dreary) and savours how Noctis is panting. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, drooling slightly as he is close to the object of his unending lust. His body rocks against Ardyn’s as he tries so _ hard _ to get a taste of his lips, but Ardyn keeps pulling away.

“You are not understanding the fact that you are not in charge. It is _ I _ that makes the decisions.”

Noctis doesn’t respond with words. He lets out a deranged sob of need. Ardyn shivers in delight.

“I wonder what lengths you will go to, hm? What wouldn’t you do for a sliver of your pathetic addiction? Since we quite literally have all the time in the world, I am willing to find out. How about you, Noct?”

He laughs. A loud, haunting laugh that echoes throughout the throne room. There is no one present to hear it except for them, after all, and Ardyn feels disappointment at that. He had been tempted on several occasions to drag Noctis’ friends here just to see how far he’d fallen, but there is plenty of time for that later. For now, he focuses on breaking down his ultimate prize into tiny fractions. Fractions small enough that he would be unable to grind them down any further between his fingers.

His theory that Noctis would do _ anything _ for his fix proves to be correct. Ardyn watches as Noctis begs, pleads, crawls, cries, sings and lunges. As Ardyn does not state what he wants, he looks on in amusement as Noctis thinks of everything that might please him. He calls him such _ wonderful _ words that it is hard not to give in. At the sound of being referred to as ‘master’, he almost pours every bit of Scourge within him down Noctis’ throat in reward. Even if he _ wanted _ to do that, it would be dangerous. While the Scourge had found Noctis suitable to thrive inside, he would never be able to handle the amount that Ardyn contained within him. He would likely explode in a shower of gleaming black shards.

It remains his primary source of entertainment for a long time. Noctis loses track of the hours, doing nothing but begging Ardyn to infect him. He crawls around on all fours when he is too weak to stand. Ardyn merely looks on.

Thus, when the day arrives that Noctis cracks and _ pleads _ for him to end his life, putting a stop to the never ending cycle of torment, Ardyn smiles.

That would be the kinder thing to do, and he is certainly _ not _ kind.


End file.
